


All The World's A Stage

by felisblanco



Category: Angel: the Series RPF, Buffy the Vampire Slayer RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-28
Updated: 2006-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Acting, it's what he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The World's A Stage

**Author's Note:**

> Again unbeta’d. Set during S5.

He likes them with short hair. Doesn't care so much about the colour or style as long as he can run his fingers up their necks and feel the soft strands curl with sweat when things heat up. Shoulders bony, ass small enough to fit the palms of his hands, waist narrow but firm. The athlete type but not butch, stomach muscles that flex underneath his fingers but do not bulge, thighs strong enough to keep up even during the hardest rides. Breasts small.

Very different from the girls he chooses for public company. Long blond hair that sways in the wind, curves like a time glass, breasts that could poke your eyes out. Shallow and empty but it doesn't matter as long as they're the poster child for femininity.

He fucks them too, wouldn't do for the press to get suspicious. Closes his eyes and buries his face in their necks as he fucks them hard and fast. Face down, biting their shoulders, fingers digging into their too soft hips. Few of them mind, they're used to the strangest quirks and oddest requests; the danger - or is it the fun? - of dating Hollywood. Being pushed out the door while still reeling from the orgasm doesn't seem to be an issue either.

After they're gone he takes a shower, washing off their perfume and lipstick with closed eyes and a blank mind. Most nights he gets back into bed after changing the sheets, falling into a restless sleep filled with forbidden images. Sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he gets dressed and goes out. Hunting.

He finds them in dark bars and sparkling nightclubs. Skin glittering with perspiration, eyes shadowed by smudged eyeliner and alcohol. If they recognise him they never say. But then again they’re not there to talk.

The alleys are dark and smell of piss. Again it's hard and fast and his eyes are closed. What he can't see isn't true. He doesn't kiss, if they try he pushes them down to their knees or slams them into the wall the much harder. They pout but as long as they get off in the end they don't really care.

When he gets home he pours himself a drink, swallowing it down in one strike before filling the glass again. His nostrils are filled with smoke. His fingers smell musky. And the hollow inside him is just as vast. A shaky hand reaches for the remote control and soon he's dozing off to images of scanty clad girls dancing across the screen, courtesy of The Wonderful World of MTV (bringing you free porn since 1981). Back in character.

Practice makes perfect and he's got his fake life down to perfection. He never blushes when friendly hugs linger or manly slaps send flashes of fire through his veins. His swagger never changes even if he’s hard enough to rip his jeans. The smirk is plastered on his face, the laugh never far away.

Six years in front of the camera, being Joss's bad boy vampire. Over forty-one years of playing the man he wishes he was.

But then everything changes. He can almost hear the cracks forming in his façade, his walls of protection crumbling, sending up clouds of dust. Colour rushes to his face, weak legs make him stumble. He forgets his lines, fumbles with his words, feels the mask slide away when strong fingers touch his arm or breath brushes against his skin.

He’d come prepared, after all he’d known it would be hard, pun totally intended. Still thought he could overcome it, after all this is what he does, acts. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Not sure who he underestimated the most, himself or Dave. Within the first month he knows it’s a lost cause. He considers giving in his notice, faking a breakdown or showing up drunk enough that they’ll fire him. Except he knows they never will. He’s the golden feather in Joss’s hat, the new cock in the henhouse, there to bring up the ratings as well as the tension. And so he clenches his jaw and faces the object of his worst (best) nightmares day after day, week after week. Nothing else he can do anyway.

\-----------

They’re fighting, rolling around like a couple of puppies, all claws and teeth and rigid tails. The smell of leather and sweat fills his nostrils, David’s ragged breath sounds like the ocean in his ears. The yelling of 'Cut!' is swallowed by the too loud pounding of his heart and it isn't until David grabs his wrist and forces it away from his throat that he blinks back to reality. He rolls over and lies flat on his back, wheezing like the old man he is, the warmth from the body beside him burning his skin through layers of leather and cotton.

“You all right?”

He nods, not ready to speak yet, his tongue fighting to form words that come from his cock, not his brain, and that would be a bad, bad thing. Feet walk by his head, there's shuffling and coughing and then one by one the crew leaves. A shout of 'break' or even 'and that's it!' must have followed the cut even if he didn't hear it so when he's almost certain his legs will be able to hold him he makes to stand up, only to be halted by a hand resting on his belly.

“Wait.”

He turns his head, heart hammering so hard he thinks Dave must feel it, that the beat must vibrate up his arm and join his own in a wild beat of African drums. Dave is watching the door, waiting until it closes on the last man, leaving the set quiet and empty, before switching his gaze back, his hand heavy and warm on James' stomach.

“We need to talk.”

Has that sentence ever boded well? He blinks, feeling the blood rush to his head, his belly twitch under the warm restrain. “Yeah? What about?”

“I think you know.”

He swallows, his throat as dry as a desert, his tongue swollen and constricting in his mouth. “No. Not really.”

The whimper escapes before he even knows it's coming but then again he didn't expect those fingers to slip in between the sliver of a gap between his jeans and his t-shirt that's hitched up during the fight. He waits for the laughter, another one of Dave's little jokes, but it never comes and when he dares to look up the eyes are just as dark and solemn as before.

“This.” The fingers slide up higher, tickling the soft hairs in their path, riding the waves as his stomach bellows with shallow breaths. “You. Wanting me.” Dave leans in closer, each breathed out word raising goosebumps on his neck. “ _That_ we need to talk about.”

Oh God. He closes his eyes, willing whatever is happening to be just another of his late night fantasies and not this nightmare of reality. “Dave...”

“You think I didn't know?” The voice is so low it's hardly a whisper. “I may not be a vampire but I can still smell you. You smell like need. Like lust and hope and denial.” Calloused fingers rub his nipple at the last word and the gasp is inevitable.

“Dave, please. Just... Don't do this.”

“Why?” The warmth slides over to the other side, this time pinching until the skin is hard and wrinkled. “Isn't this what you wanted?” Dave leans closer and swipes his tongue up the column of his neck until he reaches his ear where he nibbles lightly before continuing. “Or did I get it all wrong?”

“No... yes... I can't... I don't do this!” He tries again to sit up but even if he wasn't pinned to the floor by the heavy hand now pressing down on his chest he hardly has the strength to move, let alone fight, his body paralysed by the tumble of feelings raging inside. “David, please.”

Dave stills, watching with those dark and now slightly confused eyes. “Don't do what?” The frown deepens. “Men?”

James swallows. “Yeah.”

Blinks. “You're joking, right?”

He has no idea how to answer that so he just shakes his head and waits for the shove that will push him away and back into his miserable world of lies. It doesn't come. Instead the flat palm turns and slides down, dipping at the cavity of his belly before slipping underneath the waistband of his jeans. He hisses through his teeth, bucking up into the hand now covering his cock. “Fuck!”

“That's what I thought.” The lips are back at his ear, hot air swirling around it. “You can deny it all you want, Jim, but you can't hide it. Not from me.” The tongue licks his earlobe as the fingers squeeze his cock. “Do you really want to anyway?”

“I...” He swallows, biting his lip to keep the moan from betraying him even more when the fingers start rubbing him, sliding as they catch the drops of precum popping up from the tip of his cock. “We can't...”

“Sure we can.” David sucks lightly on his neck, lips wet and wishful. “And we should. I've been watching you. Watching me. Wanting me.”

“Haven't...” He groans when the strong finger squeeze him hard. “I'm not... Oh God. I'm not gay!” he finally manages as he turns his head toward Dave. Big mistake. Warm breath slides into his mouth, the heat from Dave's lips scorching his own.

“No?” A tongue flicks out, covering his dry lips in soothing warmth and wetness. “You still want me to kiss you.”

“I... I don't kiss. Not men.” He hates the tears in his voice. Betraying bastard tears. “I never kiss men.”

The dark eyes blink then focus back on him in sudden resolute. “Well, you do now.”

It's everything he's hoped for and feared. Not soft or smooth or delicate but all roughness and power and passion so strong he can't breathe. Their teeth clash and the sound echoes in his ears. When Dave pushes his tongue in between his lips he opens up, sucking him in as if he's drowning. Dave tastes like the chicken salad James watched him eat at lunch, like the Pepsi he drank with it and the cigarette he sneaked off to smoke after. Someone moans, a desperate sound of need, and it hits him like a punch in his gut when he realises it isn't him but Dave. He pulls back, lungs aching with shallow breaths, heart breaking its way out of his chest.

“Why – why are you doing this?”

David's face softens for a moment which is even more frightening than the heat it held before. “Because watching you struggle is too damn painful.”

He shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts straight. “Struggle? Struggle with what?”

“You.”

Dave's fingers tighten in his hair and he's pulled in for another kiss, a deep, slow kiss that makes his eyes roll back in his head and his whole body start to tremble. He feels weak, like he's been struck by the flu. There's fever in his blood and a bug in his brain and the slightest movement is making him dizzy. This time it's Dave that pulls away, sucking in his breath. Eyes still dark but now with a glint of wildness that almost scares him.

“Come on, Jimmy.” The whisper echoes across the empty stage. “You want this. I want this. Isn't it about time you gave in to it? Haven't you waited long enough?”

He searches his brain for the words he knows, all the lines he's told himself so many times he knows them by heart. There's nothing there. Nothing but need and hope and...

“Yes.” The air that fills his lungs as he breathes in deeply is incredibly fresh and liberating. “I think I have.” A smile splits his face for a quarter of a second and then his lips are seized again.

Somewhere deep inside his heart he hears a voice whisper 'Cut!'.

fin


End file.
